Paparazzi
by KelliP
Summary: Post-ep of sorts for 5x07 Swan Song. "I just want them to see what I see." The evolution of Richard Castle, Katherine Beckett, and the unrelenting paparazzi. Includes more unseen footage and the infamous page six. Two parts.
1. Chapter 1

**Paparazzi**

* * *

_**A/N:**__ There were two things I learned while writing this. One: my post-eps are turning out to be not so much post-eps as they are glimpses into their lives. Two: I cannot spell paparazzi for the life of me (thank God for spell check). Also, when I was writing this, it took a completely different turn. I split it into two parts, but I'm not too sure about the result. I hope you enjoy this anyway._

* * *

**One- in which Beckett and Castle can't help but get busted by the documentary crew.**

* * *

"…_just because they want to invade my privacy doesn't mean I have to help them do it."_

"_Okay, that may be, but these cameras- they're not going anywhere. They're going to see something. I just want them to see what I see." _

Castle grins a toothy smile as he brushes by her and into her apartment. His hand snags around her waist, keeping him close to her as she slides the deadbolt back into place. Then his fingers dig into her hipbones, tug her to the computer perched on her home desk.

"What's going on?" she asks curiously as he drops down into the chair behind the wooden desk.

Wiggling his eyebrows, Castle dips his fingers into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out a small USB drive. "The documentary crew manager slipped me the 'missing footage'," he explains as he plugs the stick into the computer.

This doesn't make Beckett anywhere near as happy as she thinks he was expecting. "They were supposed to delete it," she exclaims with a huff.

To that, he rolls his eyes, a habit he's surely picked up from her in all the time they've been spending together of late. "Relax, Kate. It's not like it's going to be accidentally released. Who would even care?"

She arches an eyebrow, the jab too easy. "Yeah, you're right. I guess you don't have many adoring fans."

Castle clutches at his heart, mocking hurt. "Hey, I'll have you know I have _plenty_ of adoring fans. You've seen them, when you're on the message boards on my website," he teases her.

Beckett narrows her eyes at him, ignoring his jest. "So, what is there to see?" she redirects the conversation.

He turns back to her computer, clicking the mouse over the different file names that pop up. "I know you weren't happy with the cameras following you around- invading your personal life and interfering with the investigation- but Kate, this… it's incredible."

One forearm resting on his shoulder, Beckett leans against him, ducking her head as the video plays to life.

* * *

They first shot is of them in the break room. Even though they're huddled close together, Beckett takes another step forward as she whispers to him.

"… _just because they want to invade my privacy doesn't mean I have to help them do it_," the on-screen version of herself tells Castle.

Castle ducks his head to look in her eyes as he speaks. "_Okay, that may be, but these cameras- they're not going anywhere. They're going to see something. I just want them to see what I_ _see_."

Beckett watches as her cheeks on the screen flush a light pink as Castle's adoring gaze doesn't waver from hers.

"_You're extraordinary, Kate_," he murmurs. "_I want everyone to see that_."

In her living room, Beckett's heart thuds just as fast as it had in the break room.

…

The image on the screen morphs suddenly into footage taken just after their first suspect broke all their hearts telling the story of just wanting his daughter back. With a daughter of is own who is just starting to experience the world, Castle is, of course, most affected by the tale. His head hangs, shoulders sag, and he slips quietly from the observation room with only a murmur of, "_I'll be right back_."

Beckett follows without a moment's hesitation, knowing his tone is one far from happiness. The camera zooms in as she catches him just outside the door, curling her fingers around his elbow to lead him to the back corners of the precinct.

The video is shaky then as the cameramen chase after them, but slowly the shot comes back into focus, albeit from afar as the camera hides around a corner to record the private moment.

Down the hallway stand Beckett and Castle. Her palms are open and kissing his cheek, fingertips skimming lightly across his temple, providing the only comfort she can give him in that moment.

"_Alexis is not that girl, Castle_," Beckett's voice floats softly out of the speakers of her computer, only just picked up by the microphone.

"_I'm sure that's what her father thought too_," he responds. Castle leans back against the wall for support, scrubs his face with his hands. Beckett takes another small step towards him, barely an inch between them now.

"_You have the best daughter in the world, and that isn't going to change_," she reassures him.

Beckett is sure Castle couldn't help the kiss that he dropped to her forehead about as much as she couldn't stop from returning it.

…

The last clip ends the moment Beckett turns to head back to her desk, transforming effortlessly into a shot from later that day. It shows Beckett at her desk as she sifts through her emails, pointedly ignoring the camera. Real-life Beckett clicks her tongue, waiting, because at the moment this shot isn't interesting at all.

Right on cue, Castle saddles over to her desk, returning from the break room with a fresh mug of coffee in each hand. He smiles at her, passes the mug over, and the camera suddenly zooms in on their hands to catch the exchange. Beckett's fingers linger as she takes the offering, brushing tenderly over the back of his hand, skimming up and down over his knuckles for just a moment longer before they curl around the handle.

…

Yet more footage pops up that Beckett didn't realise had been caught on camera.

The documentary has caught her Dodge Charger rolling into the car park early in the morning as the crew arrive themselves. Here and now in her living room, Beckett remembers thinking that specifically- that the crew were still leaning into the back of the van, pulling out all the cameras and wires and overhead microphones that looked nowhere near assembled- which is why she'd had no second thoughts to leaning across the seat and slanting her lips across Castle's.

The footage, obviously captured by a smaller hand-held camera, keeps rolling even as past Beckett and past Castle exit the car. It captures the sweet look they exchange over the hood before Beckett ducks her head. Her face is red, eyes suddenly shifty and looking where but at Castle as she sweeps her fingertips over her lips, trying to remove the taste of _him_. On the screen, Castle is smirking victoriously, a typical man.

Beside her, real-life Castle can't hold back the comment that slips off his tongue. "Hot," he breathes.

It earns him a (semi) playful backhand across the chest.

…

The next clip starts just before she heads into interrogation. Beckett and Castle are heading for bullpen, the shot panning wide before it zooms in as they approach. She's just about ready to head into the room when Castle cuts her off.

"_Actually, why don't you take him yourself_?"

Obviously confused, a crease appears between her brows as they knit together. "_Why_?"

"_Because I want to give you room to operate. Strut your stuff_," he says with a confident smile. "_You've got this_."

When he turns to walk away, Castle gives another showy smile to the camera. This time, though, it's also sure. Sure of _her_. "_She's got this_."

The rest of the scene is mostly comprised of the interrogation, but then the shot cuts to Castle. He's watching her work from outside the room, a ridiculous love-stricken and overly proud smile on his face.

"This is what I see," real-life Castle murmurs beside her, the childish playboy suddenly vanishing to leave only the sweet, loving man she's come to know.

…

Of course, there's more. It's nothing too telling, just another of their stolen moments. On the screen, they're lean against the edge of Beckett's desk, staring absently at the murder board. Their bodies aren't quite a respectable distance apart, but it surely would have been enough if their pinkie fingers weren't grazing against one another.

Then Castle's finger curls around her own, and the camera, of course, zooms in. Because of that, the documentary crew don't capture the warning look Beckett sends Castle. What they _do_ capture, however, is her response to the flirtatious one he'd returned with.

"_Behave_," she whispers, almost a giggle in her voice (but not quite, because she _is_ Kate Beckett). Her hand pulls away then, and she tucks both of them between her thighs in an attempt to control herself. The camera pans back out to catch the smirk on Castle's face and her own flushed with desire.

…

There's another shot of them in the break room. Once again, they're standing too close to be considered appropriate for work. Castle is working the espresso machine, Beckett standing at his right side, pressing up against him as her fingers hook through the loops of his belt. Though the sound doesn't pick up on the video, Beckett remembers quite clearly whispering flirtatiously in his ear about her plans for him that night, before taking a teasing step back. The result is a flushing Richard Castle, whose hands aren't quite steady as he pours the foamy liquid into two mugs already filled with decaf.

Suddenly, her eyes flick up, staring straight at her real-life self as on-screen Beckett stares the camera down. She doesn't even take her coffee as she throws open the door and looses herself in the sea that is the bullpen. Castle races after her, the camera dizzying as it follows him for just a moment before it pans back to the break room to see-

Gates entering from the side door.

In her living room, Beckett freezes, fingers digging into Castle's chest as the panic wraps around and constricts her heart.

If it weren't for the documentary crew, they would have been busted.

…

Finally, the video arrives at what she knows to be the last scene. The one that they had believed exposed them, when the crew capture Castle tucking some loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

"_You look beautiful today_," he murmurs.

Beckett smiles, leans into his touch as her own hand rises to rest over his. His thumb gives a quick stroke over her skin, and he's surely just about to break every precinct rule they've established and lean in for a kiss when Beckett spots the camera. Hastily, she pulls his hand down and ducks her head. Castle throws a look over his shoulder, cringes when he spots the crew observing them.

"_Damn it_," he mutters.

And then the screen fades to black.

* * *

There's a long pause before the knot in her throat manages to work itself out.

"Are we really that obvious?" is all she has to ask.

He shrugs all too casually. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"Not that-" she cuts herself off in disbelief. "Castle, the camera crew were only in the precinct for a few days, and this is just what they caught. Who's to know what else we're doing? I know I certainly wasn't aware of how we look when studying the murder board."

"But don't you see how amazing you are?" he asks her as he swivels in his chair, causing her forearm to drop from his shoulder and fingertips to catch onto his collar to stop from falling any further. "Don't you realise when you look at me like nothing else in the world matters my heart starts thumping? How incredible you are when you're taking on a suspect?"

She ducks her head in embarrassment at his words. "Castle…"

"You're beautiful," he continues without pause. "You're sweet and loving and so completely loyal, and when you look at me with those adoring wide eyes my heart can't help but melt. But you're also passionate and fierce. You have the ability turn into a hellcat in one second and tear apart a guy in interrogation in two minutes flat. These different levels are what makes you unique- it's what makes you _you_. I want the world to see you the way I do, yes. It's why I've based a main character and written four novels on you. More importantly, though, I want _you_ to see it more."

She can't help the blush that rises to her cheeks, the smile that curls her lips upwards. "This _is_ sweet, Castle," she says with a glance at the computer screen. "I just- I think we need to be more careful. Nothing stops the paparazzi once they catch wind of a story."

Apparently, being more careful comes a lot harder than either of them expected. Though that could be more because of Richard Castle's idiocy and his stubborn desire for the world to see _her_ than it is the paparazzi.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Another part to be added later this week, entitled: in which Beckett and Castle can't help but be published in the media. For now, more studying. Leave some lovely reviews for me to wake up to and settle my nerves before exams?_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**__ Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Hope you enjoy this second part just as much_.

* * *

**Paparazzi**

* * *

**Two – in which Beckett and Castle can't help but be published in the media.**

* * *

_Page Six_

* * *

Christmas time rolls around, and Beckett and Castle are lying in bed one lazy Sunday morning with the paper, a good book, and no distractions from the precinct. Just the two of them, it's peaceful, not even the Manhattan traffic outside putting a damper on their morning. That is, until Castle suddenly starts to choke on the air in his lungs, coughing widely as he thumps a fist against his chest.

At first, Beckett thinks nothing of it. This is Castle, and his behaviour is often odd.

"Shh," is all she mutters, redrawing her attention to the open novel in her hands. A minute later though, she can still feel Castle's intent gaze boring into her, and so she glances up at him with an irritated expression on her face and an eyebrow arched in question. "What?"

"I- there's- I didn't know," he trips over his words, the sounds half-choking in his throat.

Knitting her eyebrows so a crease forms between them, she snatches the paper from his hands.

Immediately, she wishes she hadn't.

Their faces are splayed all across the infamous page six. There's a shot of them holding hands as they walk down the street, another of Castle pressing his lips to her temple, and then the main event. A colourful picture of the pair of them with their arms linked around each other's waist and lips locked firmly together.

From the black coat and purple scarf combination she's wearing, Beckett can tell it was taken Friday evening, after Castle had made an appearance a local charity event promoting reading for children. Appearances are usually the only time the media cares about him, after all. He's not George Clooney.

All the same, Beckett doesn't know what to think as she stares at the suddenly heavy newspaper in her hands. Her throat is dry, eyes wide and unblinking as her stomach swirls and knots. She feels embarrassed, but even more, she feels _violated_. These intimate moments are something she doesn't want shared with the world. So to have them published for everyone to see?

Someone is going to meet the business end of her gun.

"You have to admit, it's a great photo," Castle offers her as he leans against her shoulder to take another glance at the paper.

"That's the take away? That the _photo_ is _nice_?" she growls. "Castle, do you have _any_ idea what Gates is going to say when she sees this?"

He doesn't even blink. "Well, don't you think it's time she finds out?" he asks her quietly.

"You know she won't let us work together, don't you?"

Castle's shoulders sag. "I know that's a possibility, but Kate- I'm getting tired of this. It's been six months now. All the secrecy and lying and sneaking around… it was fun at first, but I- I'm ready for more."

Beckett forces herself to swallow the lump in her throat at the realisation that Castle wants to tell her _boss_ about their secret affair.

She can't think of one good way this could end.

* * *

Despite the fact that they arrive at the precinct bright and early on Monday morning, the bullpen is already bustling. That is, until her co-workers notice their entrance. Then, everyone stops their movement, all eyes turning to Castle and herself as they step off the elevator.

The looks are mortifying. The sideways glances, the overt staring- she hates it all. She glares at the first few passer-bys who have the audacity to shoot her judging looks, but then gives up. It seems every single one of her colleagues finds her the fascination of the day.

The whispers are even worse. She can hear them from afar as she drops her bag down beside her desk, unbuttons her winter coat to lay it across the back of her chair. There are things like_ you _can_ tell they're together_, and _why the hell have they waited so long?_ Beckett grits her teeth as she starts up the computer, willing the whispers out of her mind as she tries to begin her day.

Then come the actual comments. People she thought were her _friends_ decide to butt-in to her personal life. Ask whether the rumours are really true. Ask whether she's finally dating Richard Castle, after all these years of working together. Next comes one of the _cleaning ladies_, stopping momentarily by her desk to ask whether Richard Castle is really off the market. Even _Gates_ has her doubts, asking whether the picture is really of her.

Apparently, no one quite believes the revealing picture printed in yesterday's paper.

* * *

_Richard Castle's Official Website_

* * *

Her name pops up online the next day.

Beckett is completely oblivious to it for the first half of the day, blissfully thinking the nightmare from page six has blown over as she goes about her work as per usual. That is, until Esposito catches her alone in the break room and accidentally blows Castle's secret.

"You know, I really can't believe you let him post that message," he comments casually as he pulls the carton of milk out of the fridge door.

She freezes. "Castle?"

"Yeah. The message on his website. You- oh." His face falls. "You don't know, do you?"

Beckett's eyes narrow. "What did he post?" she growls, posture threatening as she takes a step towards Esposito. The detective doesn't move, but he does duck his head, gaze focused on the ground and lips pressed together until Beckett storms away to her computer.

Dropping down into her spinning chair with a little too much force, she punches in the web address to Castle's official website (she doesn't have the address memorised, she swears). It only takes Beckett's eyes a moment to zoom in on the latest post, a link that says _All About the Extraordinary Katherine Beckett_. The mouse hovers over the link for just a moment's hesitation before she clicks it, and her jaw drops.

There's a photo of the two of them, taken by Alexis just the Saturday before as the three of them plus Martha had decorated Castle's loft. Ignoring the fact the photo of them is _good_, it's a huge invasion of her privacy. One she shouldn't have to lecture him on after the events of not two days before. And yet, somehow, the photo isn't even the worst part of the post. The absolute worst part comes just below their smiling faces- a long message that Castle has apparently felt the need to attach.

Cheeks flushing a deep red in anger, not embarrassment, Beckett's eyes drop to read the message without another thought when suddenly Castle saunters up to her desk, a ridiculous grin on his face.

"Coffee, Detective Be- Oh."

Castle freezes as his eyes lock onto her computer screen. They then dart up to hers for barely a fraction of a second before he begins to spin away on his heels, no doubt running to avoid the wrath he knows is coming. But she's not letting him off the hook, so Beckett is up and out of her chair in a flash.

"Break room. Now," she growls at him. Castle doesn't have a chance to so much as open his mouth as she hooks her hand around his elbow and drags him after her. The door to the break room slams shut behind them as she all but throws Castle into the room, and she takes the time to yank down the blinds to keep away the prying eyes before she rounds on him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she hisses. For good measure, she gives him a hard jab to the chest with her pointer finger.

"Kate, if you just let me explain, I-"

"Oh, you'd better explain," she growls. "Did you not hear anything I said the other day? About how I _don't_ want my face splashed all over the media?"

"Yes, I did, but-"

"But what?" she interrupts instead of just letting him _explain_. "Castle, you didn't even _ask_ me first."

"Kate, you should have seen what they were saying about us," he spoke sadly, barely a whisper. "That you were just another one of my passing fancies. That I'd move on, just like I'd always done. That you-"

He breaks off then, turning his back on her to fall down dejectedly into one of the hard metal chairs. Beckett stands still for a moment, simply watching him move, torn between her anger at his actions and the crestfallen expression on his face. But when all the air leaves his lungs in an exhausted exhale, and his shoulders slouch when he can't keep himself upright, her heart lurches for him.

"What did they say, Castle?" Her tone is softer now as she goes to him, stepping quickly across the room without another moment of hesitation. She splays an open palm across his shoulder blade, running it soothingly back and forth across his back as she waits patiently for him to continue.

"That you were nothing special," he breathes out, the words just barely audible. "And _God_, Kate. That's so far from being true. I just wanted everyone to know how truly extraordinary you really are."

Underneath her skin, her heart skips a beat, both at the undeserved compliment and the desolation in his tone. Dropping a kiss to his forehead, she murmurs against his skin. "Thank you for standing up for me, Castle, but next time? Please tell me so we can deal with it together."

* * *

_Good Morning America_

* * *

It happens again almost nine months later.

The first Saturday night of September, Richard Castle has his annual book-launch party, this time for _Hamptons Heat_. After spending the majority of the week resting in bed and drugged up on antibiotics, attending his launch party is the last thing Beckett wants to do, but Castle insists. After the ending of the previous novel, this new one has been widely publicised, marketed more than ever before.

"Please, Kate," he begs her softly. "It's important."

So against her own wishes, she agrees. Of course, she regrets her decision the moment they step out of the ridiculous limousine he's organised for the occasion. The paparazzi are already waiting, and the moment their entrance is noted, they go crazy.

Beckett shrinks back, ducking her face to hide from the onslaught of questions and camera flashes, but Castle once again chooses to ignore her desire for privacy. Instead, he hooks an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side as he forces them along the line of eagerly waiting reporters. At least he doesn't force her to answer any questions, either responding for her or giving a polite _no comment_ when the journalists attempt to pry into their personal lives.

That, however, doesn't stop one journalist. They're seated at his kitchen counter the following morning, enjoying a lazy day-off from the precinct, when the television in the background catches their attention.

"… _spoke to Richard Castle and muse-turned-girlfriend last night at the launch of his new novel- Hamptons Heat. Though the couple refused to comment on their personal lives, Yours Truly-" the reported points to herself with a fake smile on her face, "-may have a scoop for you. The ever-stunning Detective Beckett did not only refrain from enjoying a glass of bubbly, but on numerous instances throughout the night was spotted having her hand resting tenderly over her stomach. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the detective is cooking a bun in her oven." _

Suddenly, the loud clattering of metal echoes through the open loft. Beckett swivels in her chair to find Castle's jaw hanging open inelegantly, his fingers loose after releasing the fork, letting it fall to the bench top in his obvious state of shock.

"You-" he chokes out. "You're not- are you?"

"I'm not pregnant, Castle," she says unamused with an eye roll. "But good to know where you're at."

Castle slaps two open palms against his cheeks, rousing himself from his stupor before picking up the fork once again. "I didn't mean it like _that_," he tries to pick himself up and out of the hole he keeps on digging. "I just- national television _isn't_ the way I would have preferred to find out."

Beckett just shakes her head as she returns to the newspaper spread out on the counter in front of her. "Great. I'll remember that for when I actually am pregnant," she mutters under her breath.

To give him credit, the fork stays grasped between his fingertips this time.

"So… are you all right with this?"

"All right with this?" Beckett snots. "Castle, the whole of America now thinks I'm knocked up. All our friends are going to see this. My _father_ is going to see this. Of course I'm not all right with this."

"Kate, it's just the gossip section. They're just journalists who couldn't cut it in real news, telling stories that are _obviously_ fictitious just for the sake of _telling_. No one will pay any attention to it."

Needless to say, the _What To Expect When You're Expecting_ book left on her desk bright and early Monday morning proves him wrong.

* * *

_Richard Castle's Unofficial Fan Website_

* * *

Beckett has to give the paparazzi credit- it's been nearly a year since their faces last popped up in the media, the alleged pregnancy rumours long blown over. Even now, the paparazzi aren't to blame. All the culpability goes to whoever is attached to the screen name _CastleLover21._

Yeah. That's right. One of Castle's crazed fans has reported that, "_Richard Castle and his latest girlfriend were spotted arguing on the front steps of the Twelfth Precinct yesterday._" If that wasn't enough, CastleLover21 also felt the need to attach the comment, "_Has the time of their break up finally arrived?_"

Beckett's fingernails dig angrily into her palms as her hands fist, her teeth clenching and jaw rolling in frustration. The fact that her name is once again plastered in the media for all to judge isn't even what's bothering her. After two years of being in a relationship with the attention-seeker that is Richard Castle, she's grown used to it (though she often has to remind him that _grown used to it_ isn't the same as loving it).

No. It's the fact that some random stranger on the street who doesn't know either Castle or herself, nor the intricacies of their relationship, has taken it upon themself to announce not only of their potential break up, but imply that it was long overdue.

"You're not still looking at that website, are you?" Castle asks worriedly as he returns from the bathroom, boxers slung low on his hips and hair dripping onto his bare shoulders as he towel-dries it.

"I- no," she lies. Before he has a chance to peer over her shoulder, Beckett is already clicking the little red X in the corner of the screen to shut the webpage down before slamming the lid of the laptop shut.

Castle sighs. "Kate, if it's eating at you this much, I can release a state-"

"No," she interrupts before he has a chance to finish his proposal. "I already told you not to do that. I don't want you to give them the satisfaction of knowing the comments bother me."

"It doesn't have to be an official statement then," he presses as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Stretching an open hand out, his fingertips brush soothingly across the skin of her shoulder exposed by the thin straps of the tank top. "It can just be a funny statement, or a picture of us."

"_No_, Castle."

"We might as well do _something_ about it," he presses. "You can't just go on pretending as if you haven't seen it."

"No thanks to that whore I can't," she growls, referring to the concerned stay-at-home mother who had approached the both them in a coffee shop the next day, when they were sipping coffee and completely oblivious to the rumours spreading on the internet.

Beside her, Castle chuckles, clearly amused at her irritation. She shrugs his hand off her shoulder angrily, a huff escaping her lips as she turns her back on him childishly.

"Oh, come on, Kate," he whines, both palms now open and hot as they sweep across her shoulders and trail up and down her arms. Beckett tries to hold onto her anger, but Castle shifts then, pressing his chest flush against her back as his mouth drops to her neck, teeth nipping at her skin. "Don't let this ruin our night."

She doesn't.

Angry sex is the best.

* * *

_Twitter_

* * *

The next time their faces appear in the media, Richard Castle is once again culpable.

Beckett is lazing around their apartment on one of the rare days she has the place to herself. Alexis has just returned to Columbia for the new semester, Martha is busy with her acting school, and Castle has been forced (at the wrath of Paula) into a meeting downtown to finalise details for the launch party for _Heat Stroke_ in one week's time.

She's productive at first. Catches up on laundry, cleans the apartment, cooks some meals to freeze for the nights they don't leave the precinct until late. But when mid-afternoon hits and Castle still hasn't returned, Beckett can't help but be bored. Sitting like a mindless zombie in front of the TV doesn't appeal to her, and she's already re-read _Heat Stroke_ the week before. Twice. In the end, she does the one thing she'd swear on her life she never does.

She checks his twitter.

She can't help herself. After a few leaked photos during the early stages of their relationship (all Castle's fault), Beckett had started checking his feed regularly. In her head, she justifies it by telling herself she needs to know what he's posting, just in case it's inappropriate and she wants it removed.

Not because she's curious. No. Never.

All the same, she's not surprised to find he's posted a new photo just the night before. Beckett presses her lips together, hesitating for just a moment, before she gives in and clicks on the link.

The photo is of her. Of course. Taken the other night just before they'd had dinner with their families, she's sitting on the bed, adjusting the bracelet on her left wrist. She remembers sensing his presence emerge from the connecting bathroom, and she'd flicked her eyes up to smile at him just as he'd taken the shot with his phone. Not that she's one to be egotistical, but it _is_ a nice photo of her, her eyes sparkling almost as bright as the diamond on her left hand.

Now, though, it's the caption underneath the photo really has her beaming.

_She said yes_.


End file.
